


DAVID - a Pokemon Story

by scratchem



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Beta Read, Human & Pokemon Friendship, Multi, Pokemon, Pokemon Journey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchem/pseuds/scratchem
Summary: One life is insignificant in a world where only the goliath survive.A world where those who do not and cannot immediately provide themselves to those who demand that they do falter and regress ever deeper into the dark cesspool, the sandpit of time.Swept under the rug go the broken shards who go cast aside as their individuality proves an irrelevance, but for every dark act humanity commits against an Earth of people, the crimes of weaker men, there will always be someone who cleans up the mess.At once these shards seem sharp but if studied closely, the glint is simply phenomenal. Each one shines differently, and in one you can find the meaning of the universe and life itself. All you need to do is put the pieces back together.The trash is rough around the edges, cracked, shattered, dotted with dirt, buried underneath a swathe of cruel moss, but each one is unique. And he treasures every single one.~"'DAVID - a Pokémon Story' is an adventure following a boy on a journey to discover his true self, and how, along the way, his travels influenced the fabric of many millions of lives."
Relationships: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon & Original Character(s), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon & Original Male Character(s), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon & Original Pokemon Trainer(s)





	DAVID - a Pokemon Story

He ran, though he had no destination. No goal, no meaning.

He ran, though each step exerted such force from his inarticulate body balance, the Earth itself shook, the titan, and jolted his woefully lackadaisical joints with an energy which was filled, oozing and ebbing with pain.

He ran, though the night sky yearned tired souls to their slumber, tormented sobs from the agog mouth of a broken boy stirred them into a groggy state of consciousness, a shriek so shrill no double-glazing, no padding could stifle its blare.

He would ensure no obstacle, be it grief, lack of coordination from the haze in his mind, a passing gift of a strident migraine, nor uncaring individual could bar his escape.

He needed to get far from here.

Through the close he flashed past, not sparing a moment to attend the cluster of lights which were unwillingly forced into existence - they too, wanted to rest - only to be overshadowed by the indifferent silhouette which appeared only to investigate the ruckus outside. At the end of the close, he reached the first fork in his road.

Left, or Right?

No! He thought. No going right! Not again. For what I am doing is not right. My actions are not right. My being is not right. My existence is not right.

The right is of people who do not want to change. Bigots! Racists! I won't join them.

Not a moment more of hesitation and he diverged. He chose the left. Either which way it led to a new road at the end of it. He kept his pace, but hesitation overcame him when he saw another small way, branching off the path he'd chose. He knew where it went.

Back home.

And off in the distance, what seemed to some like a particle in a cascade in light, he could see dead centre, as clear as day, even in night - he could see them. Someone's mother, panicking, bawling, reaching for the welcoming arms of her husband, who too has shed tears. He stared into another window, where 2 daughters, donning magnificent bathrobes, moved down a flight of stairs with urgency and intent, to comfort their grief stricken mother. They shuffled about and melted away into the background.

What was happening there was no longer his concern. It was not his family.  
No longer.

The house blurred away into a flurry of dull colours, underneath the moonlight, and abstracted to nothingness under a sudden swathe of tears. He attempted to get a final image of a house with a family who knew sadness with a fleeting rub of the eyes, but to no avail. The slanted form his eyelids assumed did not assist in this matter. For he felt their sadness, but couldn't stick around to mourn with them. The loss of their son.

For at once he knew,

He was not magnificent.

That didn't matter now. He needed to get away from here. Soon enough, the police would be onto him, and they won't hesitate to steal him away to a place where he does not belong. And that's when he saw the main road.

A protest - far right activists objecting the very existence of the super-beasts. Hyper-evolved forms of animals, which bear incredible characteristics, such as immense strength or vast reserves of intelligence. Some bore powers beyond regular human comprehension, something which a series of ethical conventions prevented governmental organisations from exploiting and twisting to their own needs. And thus masses of people gathered as one to form a cascade of flesh and a diversity of signs, all with the same premise in mind and the same intention at heart. Never before had he seen such a clamour like this one before, and never had he seen a community of people come together as one to unanimously hate on a division of living beings. It was rare you even see societal regulars communing with one another in basic scenarios or in standard environments. Nonetheless it was a strange sight to behold, an insurmountable brick wall held up not with cement nor lain on proper foundations, but with the brute force of ignorance and poorly fleshed together lies. At least, that is what he thought.

More romantically known as "Pokèmon", after the combination of the hugely popular game and japanese animé series. They recieved this titular name - which is indeed a combination of the words "pocket monsters", influencing such things as "pokéballs" in which a trainer would use to capture and inevitably befriend their Pokémon, and safeguard them.

This was the perfect opportunity to leave. To become a droplet in an angry sea, simply going with the flow as if he belonged. But that could not be further from the truth. He had already sworn he wouldn't join the right - the bigots, racists, never again under any circumstances. He held himself back and manically darted his eyes about in a final vain attempt to procure a reasonable decision, but ended up only seeing the situation with a new angle and a frightening clarity. Small pockets of police officers assimilated into the mass of the protestors searching for a person, and a flip of a wrist-mounted holographic display revealed who - the ghostly, emotionless, fair-haired, blue - eyed image of a lost boy. The image was of him.

No time to ponder or take another glance. An attempt to turn back was made, but was met by an impenetrable mental barrier composed of determination, and his vehement grunts of nervous frustration had no hand in concealing his now criminal identity. The sidewalk, no matter which way you went, was under close watch of an eagle-eyed officer from every direction, juggling a closed-channel radio and a plethora of protestors attempting to overflow off the beaten path. He had no choice but to step off the sidewalk and enter the road. Only then could he have a chance of staying hidden.

The only welcome he received was a sharp blow between the shoulder blades, quick and painful, sending the immediate and present message, like writing on a wall. It was a post of a large wooden sign with some derogatory message painted onto it with some indecipherable scrawl, bobbing up and down, repeatedly dominating the boy's diminutive stature. Slurs, swears and lies were retorted in the background, and although it was heard and not forgotten, and although it added insult to the injury, no quarter was given, for he was knocked to his knees, focussing a lot of his energy in regaining his stance and composure, and the rapidly exerted oxygen forcefully exasperated from his chest cavity by the repeated hits. A slug to the shoulder and lower he went, kick to the head, shunt to the hand, arm, until finally he was planted in the rough and unfruitful soil in the centre of the asphalt. The only thing he could sense was the noise of the clamouring from all directions and the near tectonic shock each passing foot provided, reckless, careless, nonchalant stamping which, the boy could feel, made the Earth feel queasy and unwell. He knew because he and the dirt were one. He could hear the Earth's cries and groans with excruciating detail, each tone and exact pitch spelt a new companion to its suffering, and the Earth felt his aching and wallowing limbs, riddled with bruising and rife with open wounds with a small stream of blood from each small opening. For a moment, they were connected, and each one cried for help. Wave after wave, their own anger, their own self interest clouded their vision, both proverbial and literal, with such disregard, a viscous, metaphysical toxicity.

~

_"All ready? All packed, good to go?" Dad was staring me down in the eyes with his usual intensity. There wasn't anything else more intimidating than his small grey eyes when he glanced at you with his peculiar determined look, even when he was trying to be comforting. I know he is like this all the time, but now I notice them standing out more than ever._

_"Yes", I groaned, trying to sound less worried than I actually was. I am a big boy now. I am 10, and its finally time I grow up. I have wanted this all my life, and I wasn't going to leave my dad with any doubts. He gets worried about me really easily; I can speak of the mildest issues and he will be all up in my face about it... I find it easier to keep things to myself now._

_"Good, just making sure", he said, softly, like he always does, but a bit quieter now, which is what he usually does when he is worrying or thinking about something a lot. He looked sad - or he had a frown on his face at least. I wonder when my dad will grow up._

_"Listen, I... I know this is important to you--"_

_"More than anything!"_

_"Right, more than anything..."_

_"Don't you believe me?"_

_"Listen", he snarled. He was angry now. Something was upsetting him. So I listened._

_"The world out there... its a good one. But there are some bad people. I want you to be safe--"_

_"Daaaad..."_

_"I want you to be careful. But there's one more thing", he said, as I was turning away with an annoyed sulk and petted lips on my face._

_"What's that, dad?"_

_"Be good. Be good when others aren't. Always help people. I need you to do this. Can I trust you to do this?"_

_"Dad..."_

_"What's wrong?"_

_"I can't always help everyone - I want to become my own Pokèmon master! How can I possibly have enough time to... I don't know, train my Pokèmon, or take part in battles, if I am stopping all the time to help people? You make no sense!"_

_Dads brows furrowed and sort of shuffled closer together as his gaze shifted from me to the floor, and tightened by a considerable amount. He did a single chuckle and looked right back at me. He swept a dulling brown bouquet of hair from impeding his vision as our eyes locked together. He smiled, and suddenly I felt a sense of warmth inside of me._

_"But what if you needed help? What if you were in a situation where there was seemingly no way out? What if you were hanging off a cliff, or caught in a stampede of ignorant Bouffalant and there was no arm which extended to help you up? How would you feel?"_

_I stopped my thinking for a moment. He was starting to make sense, but it still sounded absurd. There is no way I would let that happen to me, but I suppose if I do get into some tight spots that it would help me to make some friends. I might need some friends to take on some Pokèmon too, so... I guess he makes some more sense now._

_"Son, you will always have time for people. You will always have time for Pokèmon."_

_"Dad..."_

_He hushed me and held out both leathery hands, cupping my face._

_"All I'm asking is that sometimes you need to look at the sun. See it's light?"_

_He dropped the sunglasses resting on my brow onto my eyes and turned my head to face the sun. He shuffled over from his scooched position in front of me to a scooched position beside me. He too looked at the sun._

_"That is what I want you to see. I want you to see the light in people, to see the light in Pokèmon, and treat it as the only thing you can see."_

_The light... it was like it was calling my name. I could see something rippling, like a mighty flap of a bird's wings in the wake of the red giant in the sky. I noticed as each wave resonated through the atmosphere and met the eyes of every being on every surface, but felt as if there was something the light was trying to say. I watched as a fresh barrage of light was flaring into my eyes, and I embraced it, and got a feeling I had never felt before. I stood for a solid second before Dad returned me to him. He chuckled._

_"Try not to go blind, OK? Did you get that?"_

_"Yes. I think so."_

_"That's good son. That's good."_

_He stood up straight. I remembered how tall he was - it felt like an eternity since the start of this conversation began. He held out his hand, and I took it._

_"Dad?"_

_"Yes, son?"_

_"One more thing."_

_"What's that?"_

_"How do I see it? The light in people and Pokèmon?"_

_He laughed and let go of my hand to ruffle my hair about._

_He turned around from me and walked into the house._

~

The boys hand clawed its way onto the sidewalk. The ignorant folk, dazed and incited by indignation, eager to join the furore a long ways down the road, apathetic to their fellow human who does not stand with them in their advance to a greater world, so they say. They daren't bother help those who cannot stand with them. If they cannot stand, they shan't be saved, so it seems. The boy saw as drops of people noticed him as he lay on the floor and each one glowered in confusion or contempt, for they had to step over him in order to advance, almost as if they assumed their path would be without roadblocks - they came all this way under the watchful gaze of the police, and they set up physical roadblocks to divert their path. The sheer quantity of people meant they could not be stopped in their tracks, but they will accept marshalling to the right direction, one which a figure of authority bestows them. The boy remembered something in the brief moment he lay on the floor, where he was kicked and beaten and bruised, seemingly left to rot, unneeded. The words of a wiser man than he, and such has the boy's attitude to the man changed. He no longer believed the man was wise. There was no sun in the sky, he was engulfed in darkness, the Moon his only ally. He was friend to the Earth, and the Moon is the friend of the Earth. As the Earth groaned in pain, Moon seconded its pain, and so did the boy. But that was behind him now. He needed to run.

There was no Earth to be felt here. Where he laid there was a minimal spawn of the Earth, a vessel to which he and the Earth could talk and feel. Another stroke of his arm and he threw his torso onto the kerb, dragging his legs aboard also. But the sidewalk did not welcome him - he hastily attempted to stand up and leave the raging rapid which briefly imprisoned him under a deluge of angered individuals in the dust, but the composition of the tarmac bit away at his fingernails, producing an uncomfortable spine-tingling sensation which he winced at, and forced him to lose his grip with his foot, causing him to slip and land on his elbow, more fuel to the flame which was glowing up his insides. Nevertheless this didn't stop him, as he stole away onto the sidewalk, past the convenience stores which were conveniently closed, past bustling houses which told others to go away. He threw his hood above his head and made his way to the source of all the flow of people, up the main road. A single person who walked the opposite path was a strange image to some, causing a lot of eyes to observe him as he streaked past. The boy hid himself underneath the shadow cast by woven fabric and embraced a perturbing yet undeniable feeling of scopophobia, a phenomena the boy had not felt for seemingly aeons. He approached the crux of the main road which could lead him 2 ways - another fork. He didn't notice that before him stood a group of vigilant officers, who were busy scrutinizing every person in the crowd, raking their way through thousands of human details in search for some which would indicate where this missing boy is. The boy knew, when he saw them, there would be no escape from them. The boy froze for a second and this was all they needed. He hadn't even a moment to process what next, even though he knew there was nothing he could do. He could not go ahead, for officers stood in his path, he would not rejoin the flood of the obtuse. He turned around to run back from whence he came, but they were coming from this way also. A glance was all they needed and they had identified him. They had him surrounded from all sides, and they were hastily closing in. They did not understand why he is lost. All they know is that he is lost, and needs to be found.

The boy held back a cry of anger and a cry of fear.

TO BE CONTINUED.

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing this because I have always wanted to. It is not necessary I write it but it is a story I have always wanted to share, and I have woven into it one of my most favourite franchises possible - Pokémon. I thoroughly believe you will enjoy it, feel free to read, comment and do generally whatever. As long as it isn't nicking it because that isn't cool.


End file.
